The Phantom of Broadway
by Arien Belthil
Summary: When an immortal Erik befriends a young Broadway actress, what sort of mayhem will ensue? As he is introduced to the modern world, they are both surprised to find themselves entwined in love's duet. Not your ordinary modern fic. This SHOULD be updated b
1. Default Chapter

**Disclaimer: I wished I owned Phantom of the Opera in all its forms. But I don't. Nor do I own the Majestic Theatre, which will be mentioned later in this fic. Hell, according to my mother, I don't even own the air I breathe. All I own are my characters.  
**

**Well, this is my second attempt at writing a phanfic. This is based on the musical, which I might see on June 7, and on the movie, which is AWESOME, and stars Gerard Butler, my love. Although the book is great as well, I just haven't gotten inspiration from it yet.**

**Anyways, this chapter is rather LONG, but it's fast-paced, don't worry. Also, I'm gonna try and make it a tad humorous. If too many people don't laugh, I'll change it to Romance/Drama. I probably have some dates wrong, and I don't really like this chapter. But it WILL get better. If it doesn't, I'll die. Feh. And I know that the events are very unlikely, just bear with me here. There's also some verbal Leroux bashing in this chapter, but it means nothing. I love the book very much, it's just that I wanted its info to be wrong.**

**Yes, I know this is a long author's note, but one more thing: To anyone who was reading my original story (Sweet Surrender), I have my inspiration for the next chapter, and I'm hoping to put it up before the end of the month! **

**I have the strangest feeling that I've seen something like this before, but I'm not quite sure. If there's a fic out there like this, PLEASE tell me! Muchas gracias, and enjoy!**

**Chapter 1 - Erik's Tale**

Erik gazed after his love, painfully enduring the strains of the love song that would never be directed towards him. "You alone can make my song take flight." he whispered brokenly, tears streaming down the scarred face. "It's over now, the music of the night!" He screamed out at the darkness, smashing the mirrors around him, hardly caring whether the shards hit him. He smashed the last one with all his strength, revealing a dark passageway behind it. With one last glance at Christine and the man she had chosen, he disappeared, letting the mirror's curtain fall behind him.

And that is the end of the story.

Or so they all thought.

True, the dreaded Opera Ghost was gone, but not from this earth. He hadn't killed himself from heartbreak, nor had he died in the fire that had reduced the Opera Populaire to ruins. He was very much alive, although he considered remedying that situation quite a few times over the next few years.

He had left Paris, partly to escape from the memories, but mainly to escape from the angry mob that wanted him hung. He escaped to Germany, where he stayed until the beginning of summer. He traveled to Italy, luxuriating in the sounds and sights for five years, then traveled to Spain for a period of two years. After that, he finished his grand tour of Europe with a three year stay in London.

It was an early spring morning in 1880. The sun was shining as merrily as if it were summer, and small green buds were forming on the trees. A few birds were tentatively chirping, and everyone had that joyful feeling that spring had finally returned.

Erik, however, couldn't care less about the changing of the seasons. He was also completely oblivious of what a gorgeous day it was, although he did grimace at the effect the sunlight streaming through the grime-streaked hotel dining room window made. He'd been staying in a seedy London hotel for the past 6 months, hardly ever leaving. The owners never asked why for two reasons. One: this new customer was rather intimidating in his dark cloak and half-mask. Two: he was paying them three times the normal amount.

So he sat there, in that seemingly normal room, on that seemingly normal day, eating his seemingly normal dry eggs. But at that moment, for reasons forever unknown to him, a though struck him that he had somehow prevented from entering his mind for almost seven years.

Christine.

Shivering, he put his head in his hands, trying to eject the memory of that sweet and beautiful face. He had been able to keep from brooding over her for almost all of his self-imposed exile from Paris. Why did those cruel recollections have to return and torment him now, when he was at least reasonably content? He bit his lip, glancing around the practically empty room. Even through his agony, an idea was forming in his fertile mind.

Anything could have happened in the past ten years. That poor excuse for a man Raoul de Chagny could've drowned, or been shot, or left Christine for another woman (although the last one was unlikely, Erik thought, after all he'd gone through to win her). Christine could be completely alone in the world. Maybe, just maybe, Erik thought, she could forgive her Angel of Music.

Of course, the only way he could find out was if he returned to Paris. So, with a small smile on his face and hope in his heart, he abandoned his disgustingly cold eggs and rushed upstairs to pack his clothing.

The next day, he was on a ship heading towards the French coast. The sailors and other passengers were staring at his somber colored clothing, but he didn't care. He felt incredibly optimistic, and it was a nice feeling that he'd never experienced before. Anxiously, he turned in the direction of France. "Oh, God, make this be a quick journey." he muttered, surprisingly praying to the God he believed wanted him to squirm in pain.

Alas, Erik seemed to be cursed to eternal bad luck. After his arrival in the port city of Calais, and asking around a bit, he learned that Raoul and Christine were still happily married, and had 4 children named Katriane, Matthieu, Therese, and Lucien.

"What?" Erik growled, shaking the old sailor who informed him. "Are you absolutely sure of this?"

"Y-y-yes, monsieur." the man stammered, shaking with fear. "I saw them on a visit to relatives just last week."

"Damn it!" Erik shouted, throwing the man against the wall. The man scrambled to get away, stumbling as he went. Erik slammed the wall with his fist and slid down, breathing heavily. Putting his head in his hands, he wondered what the hell he was supposed to do now? Not only was his love _happy_ with the fop, but now he was_ stranded_ in France!

Now what!

* * *

"Stupid god damn organ." Erik growled, smacking his beloved, rust-covered instrument with his fist. 

Yes, Erik was back in his lair, rather reluctantly, though. The Opera Populaire had been completely rebuilt, and now looked completely gorgeous, but it was so entirely different that it made him gag. Carlotta had thrown herself off of a bridge after Piangi's death, so now some screecher named Edmee Delven had replaced her. Mme. Giry had been killed by an angry ballet rat, and Meg's chances of becoming prima ballerina were ruined when she had her foot amputated, so she'd been replaced by Jacquenetta Colville.

"Everyone is dead and gone, and they've left me here to rot." Erik grumbled, throwing his shoe at an emaciated rat. The loud crack of a small mammalian backbone echoed throughout the cave. "Great! Now I have dead rat on my shoe." Erik shouted. "Lovely!"

Needless to say, Erik was not the happiest camper.

* * *

Years had gone by. Erik wasn't quite sure how many years, as he hardly left the opera house, but they were certainly passing. Not as many people were coming to the Populaire as once did, and it was in massive debt. On Erik's last visit to the outside, he'd heard rumours of a war, a huge war that the world was participating in. One army, the German army, was marching through France trying to get to Paris. Erik was surprised. The Germans had been so nice when he'd lived there. 

Two weeks later, Erik found out that it was the year 1917, and not only that, but it was September 23, his 82nd birthday.

"Well, time does fly." Erik sighed to himself, throwing his cape on the seat of his organ. "Let's see how much I've aged." He slid the velvet curtain off of the group of cracked mirrors.

He stared at himself in the slightly distorted reflection. He had no wrinkles, no gray hairs, no signs of aging whatsoever. Puzzled, he touched the glass.

"Maybe I'm just aging well." he mused.

* * *

Leaves skimmed the ground of the empty cemetary, resting for a brief moment on the cold tombstones, then being swept away by the late November wind. Dark clouds were gathering above, threatening snow soon to come. Silence reigned in the cemetary, exccept for the howl of the wind and the swish of a cloak. 

Erik slowly stepped forward from the shadow of Gustave Daae's grave, eying a small mable tombstone. He knelt down, his lower lip trembling, tears springing to the clear blue eyes. He reached out to touch the gravestone, on which were the words, "Vicomtess Christine de Chagny, beloved wife and mother."

He lingered there, not wishing to have to say this final farewell. If only he'd been able to see her before it happened, to ask her forgiveness! If he couldn't have her love, he wanted to know that she didn't hold him in less regard than a cockroach. But no...she was dead, gone to a place that he could probably never get to, for he was reasonably sure she hadn't committed any damning sins. His head bent, he placed a solitary red rose on the stone, adorned with a black velvet ribbon and the ring he had taken from her so many years ago.

In the distance he heard quiet chatter. He glanced up to see a man and a nun guiding a wheelchair down the path. He knew who was in that chair: Raoul de Chagny, his old rival. Erik tried to feel the hatred rise in his chest, but for some reason, it wasn't coming. This man was no longer the young, handsome patron of the Opera Populaire that he had fought for Christine's love; he was bent, wizened, probably dying and making his last visit to his dearest. Erik actually felt the smallest pang of pity.

Erik turned back to the tombstone, uttering those words he knew he had to say before he was caught.

"Goodbye..."

* * *

It was September 23, 1940, and Erik was in London getting bombs dropped on him. 

He had left Paris in July, only a few days before the Nazis had marched in. He'd thought he was lucky then. Now he was hiding like a rabbit in a hole in a bunker with the rest of the boarders at the boarding house he was living in.

His landlady, Mrs. Marjorie Scarborough, was knitting a sweater, flinching every so often at the explosions. Edwin Winchcombe, his fellow boarder, was reading a book, and some strumpet from the street who had begged for refuge with them was looking Erik up and down with a slight smirk on her face.

The only sounds were the click of knitting needles, the turning of pages, and the airplane engines above them. Erik had to break the overbearing tension.

"Um...today's my birthday." he said casually, trying to make light and easy conversation.

"Oh, that's nice, Mr. Destler." Mrs. Scarborough said, not looking up from her knitting. "How old are you?"

"105." Erik said in a low tone.

Everyone slowly turned their head slowly towards him, looking at him in total confusion. "Um...pardon me?" Mrs.Scarborough stammered.

"Nothing. Never mind." Erik returned ro the important business of staring at his feet.The others went back to what they had been doing as well. It was silent for a while. Erik glanced around, his eyes settling on Mr. Winchcombe's book.It was a flimsy little paperback, nothing special about it. Except for the fact that it was titled "The Phantom of the Opera".

"Mr. Winchcombe, could I just see that book for a moment?" Erik asked nervously, his eyes lingering on the book.

"Er...sure." Mr. Winchcombe quickly handed the book to Erik then glanced away nervously. Erik opened the book to the title page. A picture of a tall man with a skeleton mask adorned it, the figure resplendent in a costume and feathered hat of scarlet. Above it, the title, and the author's name: Gaston Leroux.

Erik flipped through the book, glancing over the pages. He turned to the last page, where the last words were:

"Erik is dead."

_"What!" _Erik roared. "First, the man makes Christine out to be a brainless moron, then he makes me out to be insane, then he says I look like a _skeleton,_ and then he kills me off! That's the furthest thing from the truth! Christine was a very smart girl, I am most certainly NOT insane, I am in no way skeletal, and most of all, I AM NOT DEAD! I've been alive for 70 years since it happened, and I'll probably be alive for 70 years more! DAMN YOU, GASTON LEROUX!"

Complete silence. Mrs. Scarborough was staring at him in horror, Mr. Winchcombe was staring interestedly at his hands, and the strumpet was no longer looking at him with a lustful eye.

The next day, Erik was evicted.

* * *

And so, the years went by, with Erik always growing older. He had absolutely no idea why he wasn't dying. If he'd had his way, he would've died in his home back under the opera house, and would be there still, turning into dust. 

He had moved to New York City after he'd been evicted from the London boarding house, and had been living in different hotels. At night he'd walk around unseen and watch the happy people pass by in the bright lights of Manhattan.

It was mid-January of 1988, and Erik was walking around in the shadows. He hid in an alley and watched two teenage girls walking down the street. All of a sudden, he caught an interesting part of their conversation.

"Hey, Amy, you'll never guess what's premiering on Broadway next week that I have tickets to!" the first girl giggled, flipping her long, bleached blonde hair over her shoulder. The second girl sighed. "What, Jennifer?" "Phantom of the Opera, the musical!" the first girl squealed. "_What! _Our favorite book! That's totally awesome! And you have tickets?" "Hell yeah! It's at the Majestic Theatre on West 44th, one week from today!"

Erik stared at the girls' retreating backs. A musical? On Broadway? Wasn't that the place he'd passed where so many people were standing in line for tickets and jumping up and down in excitement like morons? But what if they ruined his story, just like that damn Leroux? He had to see this for himself. He promptly turned around and made his way to West 44 Street to buy tickets.

The next week, Erik was lurking in the box above the stage. He'd ferreted out the fact that the author of the play, a Mr. Andrew Lloyd Webber, had based it entirely on a book of Christine's memoirs, entitled, _Memwars ov I, Da 2-Cool-4-Phantom Chorus Grl. _Erik had an uncomfortable feeling about that book; almost as if it and it's improper grammar were mocking him.

When the curtains were shoved aside Erik was surprised to see that every event that occured on stage had occured over 100 years ago. He found himself mouthing the words as he heard each song, and tears filled his eyes when he saw Christine and Raoul profess their love to each other all over again. It was almost too much to bear when he saw Christine return to the world of light with the fop, for this time it wasn't just running through his mind.

It was playing in front of his eyes.

It was at that moment that Erik sealed his fate. He decided that he was going to move into this new theatre to make sure that the memory of Christine was kept sacred and that his story was told correctly. Every single detail must be _perfect._ They would pay if it was not.

He wondered if they had a subterranean lake downstairs.

* * *

Erik inhaled the cool April air, taking a break from his task. The back alley was dark even in daylight, but at midnight it was pure black. He looked up and tried to see the stars, but the lights of Manhattan blotted them from sight. Erik sighed and returned to trying to push his new organ through the back door without waking the sleeping security guard who was standing by. 

Yes, Erik had made a considerably cozy home underneath the basement of the Majestic. Although they had no subterranean lake, which was a downside, he had been able to make some strategically placed passageways. These were in his new Box 5 (which really wasn't a Box 5, more like a Box A, but he liked to call it Box 5), random hallways backstage, and in various dressing rooms. You never know know when or where you need to appear, he had reasoned.

The organ was halfway through the door when Erik accidentally hit a key. The loud, blasting note of a pipe organ echoed through the alley, waking the security guard. Erik winced as the security guard shook himself awake. Maybe he won't see me, he thought. I _am _a man of the shadows, after all.

"Hey, who are you?" the guard called, glaring at Erik's huddled form. "And whaddaya doin' with that thing?"

"Uh..." Erik stammered. "What thing?" _That's a lovely excuse,_ he thought bitterly. _That'll get me out of this for sure._

"That thing!" the guard walked over, gesturing wildly towards the organ. The stench of alcohol coming off the man was so overbearing, Erik almost gagged. "The large metal organ!"

"I see no large metal organ." Erik said smoothly. "And I don't think you do either." he added, pulling a $100 bill from the confines of his cloak. The guard eyed him suspiciously.

"Whaddaya mean?" the guard said slowly. "And why'd you take that money outta your pocket?" the man glared at Erik accusingly. Erik sighed and put his face in his hands for a moment. This was obviously going to be harder than he thought.

"Look." he said wearily. "I need to get this organ to the basement for...uh, storage. But no one can know because it's a surprise...or something. So I'm giving you this money not to tell anyone. Also," he added on a whim, "I'll stay here and guard for you, while you run off and do what you'd like. Do you comprehend what I'm trying to say to you...sir?"

Recognition dawned on the man's face. "Oh...now I get it!" he cried, snatching the money from Erik's hand. "Awesome! Now I can go get totally wasted with my friends! See ya!" With that he scurried off.

Erik stared after him, completely confused. "Why on earth would someone want to be wasted?" he muttered to himself. "I thought it wasn't good to be a waste..."

He finally shoved his new organ through the door and promptly dropped it on his foot on his way down the stairs.

* * *

The years passed, with Erik always growing older and staying just as healthy as he always was. He killed a few people, mystified quite a few policemen, and ruined one performance when he was in a vindictive mood. Everyone in the theatre whispered about him. They called him "the _new _Phantom of the Opera". 

Of course, no one suspected that this Phantom was the actual Phantom. They didn't even know that there'd _been _an actual Phantom of the Opera. This worked out quite well for Erik, for as long as everyone just thought he was some psycho who thought he was the Opera Ghost, no one worried about him and his malevolent antics too much, and if they did, they kept it to themselves and made light of it.

But one year, almost 17 years after the fateful day he had decided to live at the Majestic, the management decided on something. They wanted an all new cast for an all new Broadway season. Although Erik didn't quite agree that this would attract more tourists, he found it rather exciting. At least there was a change in the monotony that was his life.

Little did he know how much of a change.


	2. Manhattan, 2005

**Disclaimer: Although it would be incredibly sweet if I owned Phantom of the Opera, I don't. I don't own anything except my idea and my characters. -grumbles-**

**TheAngel'sMaggie: Thank you! -abnormally large grin- Isn't Gerry the most gorgeous dude ever! I love him. He's spoiled me for anyone else. I always compare people to him, lol. Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx: Thank you so much! I'm glad that at least one person who was reading my old fic came to read this one. Enjoy!  
**

**Texas Rose: Thank you! I actually don't like the way I write but everyone else does. I shall continue, and I hope you continue to read.****  
**

**Sorry I took so long to put this up, it's just that my comp was down forever. Not my fault, I don't know what was up with it. Just wanted to tell you guys, cuz I know that some people who were reading my last fic know I'm really lazy. Also, finals are coming up (AND I HAVE NO NOTES! GAH!) so I have to go steal the reviews from my friends and work my ass off.  
**

**Hey, I just realized that my character from my first fic and my character from my second have the same initials (N. L.). Odd, but whatever. Ok, for anyone who doesn't know, Wagner College is a college on Staten Island (in New York City) that has a really awesome performing arts program. I just had to make my charrie go there as a tribute to my completely boring hometown. Also, I know this isn't even remotely amusing yet, but bear with me, eh? And it's not random humor either, it's just humor humor. Although I love random humor, randomness doesn't fit in with my plot.**

**Cheers, and enjoy! **

**Chapter 2 - Manhattan, 2005  
**

"Think of me, think of me fondly, la de da de da..." Nessa Lochlann murmured to herself as she flitted around her apartment, collecting dirty dishes. "Remember me, once in a while, please promise me you'll...damn it." A cup fell to the floor, shattering across the linoleum tiles. She sighed, placing the dishes on her counter and pulling the broom from a cupboard. "Ugh, I don't have time for this!" she wailed. "I've got to leave for those auditions! This is the chance of a lifetime, and if I miss it, I shall beat myself senseless!"

These auditions were indeed the chance of a lifetime. If she got the part in these auditions, not only would her childhood dream come true, but she'd have enough money to get out of this cruddy apartment.

Nessa was auditioning for the part of Christine Daae on Broadway. She probably wouldn't have even known about it if it wasn't for her sleazy agent Jimmy Taduso. He'd "discovered" her after she'd starred in a play in her senior year at Wagner College. "I'm gonna make you a star, baby!" he'd said with his arm around her, his breath smelling horribly of stale smoke. "You're gonna be the next big thing, babe!" Four years later, she was still eating Ramen noodles from the pot and working as a cashier. Of course _she _had to be the only one in the family who had so far done nothing with her life.

Nessa scurried to her bathroom to take a last glance at herself. Her green eyes squinted at the reflection. Her long curly brown hair was confined in a neat ponytail, but a few strands fell on the shoulder of her black shirt. Satisfied with herself, she flew out of the door to grab her portfolio, her skirt swishing around her legs. "Goodbye, love!" She blew a kiss to her black cat Shawnnyboy, and slammed the door.

* * *

"Next for the part of the Phantom, Erik Destler?" the casting director called, looking up from his clipboard. A cloaked figure rose from the back seats and strode towards the stage. The figure jogged up the stairs and stepped into the spotlight, revealing a tall, well-built man in dark, old-fashioned clothing. A white mask covered half of the face, the other half smirking confidently. The smirk was also partly at the blinding colors of the casting director's outfit. People just didn't know how to dress anymore. 

Yes, Erik was auditioning. Not to actually get the part, however. No, he was just building up some self-worth by auditioning, for he knew that he'd get the part. How could he not when he was the real and true Phantom, who had originally sung the songs? He wouldn't accept the part when he got it though. He'd say he was moving to Canada or something.

He'd even gotten spruced up for the occasion. He'd had his mask professionally cleaned, and he'd gotten a new outfit. True, he'd had to go to some store called "Madame Llewellyn's Victorian Outfitters" to get anything suitable, but he'd managed.

"Ok, Mr. Destler." the casting manager said after looking this strange man up and down for a moment. "Why exactly do you want this part?"

"Why, you ask?" Erik replied, raising an eyebrow. "Because _I _am the rightful Phantom of the Opera." He looked down at them haughtily from the stage. There was silence from the manager and his underlings.

"Alrighty then..." the man continued. "Just sing a little something for us, please?"

Erik breathed in, preparing to sing.

"_Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation..._

_Darkness stirs and wakes imagination!_

_Silently the senses abandon their defenses._

_Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor,_

_Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender._

_ Turn your face away from the garish light of day,  
_

_ Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light -  
and listen to the music of the night ..._

_Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams!  
_

_ Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before!  
_

_ Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar!  
_

_ And you'll live as you've never lived before-_

The man held his hand up, signaling for Erik to stop. "That was very nice, Mr. Destler. Unfortunately we believe we've already found someone for the part. So thank you very much, and goodbye." The men started to put away some of their papers, leaving Erik dumbstruck on stage.

"Then, then..." he stammered. "Then why did you even audition me?" He could feel anger, confusion, and hurt rising in his chest.

"Well, we couldn't just kick you out when you'd been waiting for 3 hours. It would be way too impolite, don't you think?" The man said casually. "Now, a good day to you, sir. Next is auditions for Christine, correct, men?" he added to his companions, who nodded.

"But...but I _am _the rightful Phantom of the Opera! I am, I tell you! You aren't just going to leave me here, god damn you!" Erik snarled at the men, who very nonchalantly continued to rearrange their papers. "I know every single word, every single melody, I know what happens in _Don Juan Triumphant _after The Point of No Return! You turn me away even though I know better than anyone else the story? How dare you!"

"Now, now, Mr. Destler, everyone thinks they deserve the part. You're no different from anyone else." the man glared at Erik, who was breathing heavily in rage. "Now, please leave before we have to force you."

"No different! No different!" Erik cried. "_This _is no different!" In a complete rage, he tore off his mask, throwing it at the men. The men drew back making noises of slight disgust.

"Ugh, that's disgusting!" The casting director remarked. "Who on earth would do that to themselves just to get a part? Security!"

Two burly men promptly emerged from the shadows. One handed Erik his mask back before they each grabbed Erik by the arms and pulled him outside.

* * *

Nessa was standing outside of the Majestic, calming herself down before going in. "It'll be okay, Nessa..." she assured herself halfheartedly. "I mean, what can they do if they don't like you? Have some burly security guards throw you into the street?" 

The door of the theatre opened. For a fleeting second, she saw the outline of two muscular men before a man was thrown through the door. The man sprawled on the ground, his dark, old-fashioned cape billowing about him. He coughed and made an odd sound that she assumed to be a groan of pain.

"Oh my God! Are you okay, sir?" she asked anxiously, staring at the form on the ground. The man looked up at her, glaring. He was handsome, from what she could see of his face. Half of it was covered by a white mask. She supposed that he was trying to show them how good he'd look in costume. He did look quite a bit like the Phantom she'd always envisioned.

"I'm fine, if that is what you're asking." the man growled, trying to get up, but wincing in pain. "I suggest that you don't meddle in my business."

"Oh...um, ok...sorry, sir." Nessa tried to ignore him for a little while, but it was getting increasingly difficult to ignore the grunts and thumps as he tried to right himself. "Um, are you sure you're okay?" she said, turning back to the strange man. "Because you could use my cellphone to call a friend or an ambulance, if you'd like."

The man finally staggered to his feet, albeit with difficulty. "First of all, I have already informed you, mademoiselle, that I am in no need of your assistance." he hissed. "Second of all, even if I was in need of your help, which I'm not, I have no idea what you're talking about anyway. Friends? Ha! Who would befriend me, mademoiselle? Who would befriend the angel in hell?" With that, he limped away, cursing under his breath.

Nessa stared after him. _"Wow." _she thought. _"You can't get through a day without seeing some freak walking the streets of New York. Angel in hell? Someone's a tad too obsessed with Phantom. Then again, I really shouldn't be talking..." _She let out a heavy sigh, rubbing her arms to warm herself. Although it was mid-April, spring was coming along pretty slowly that year.

The door to the Majestic opened again. This time a small, slender man came out. He lit a cigarette and coughed. Glancing at Nessa, he grunted, "You just standing there, or are you here for auditions?"

"I'm, uh, here for auditions." Nessa replied, staring at the man. He too was clad oddly, with a lime green shirt, black tie with yellow polka dots, and pink and purple pinstriped pants. "Why, are they starting?"

"Yep." The man took a long drag from his cigarette. "You better hurry. They're just waiting for me and then they'll begin."

"Oh, you must be Mr. Home, the casting director." Nessa gave him a small smile. "My agent Jimmy told me about you."

"Jimmy? Jimmy Taduso? He's your agent?" Mr. Home raised an eyebrow. "Listen, kid, I'd watch out if I were you. Jimmy's a gangster and a con artist, and he don't like to be messed with. He'll rob you blind."

"Yeah, I know." Nessa sighed, turning to go into the theatre.

* * *

The apartment was silent except for the TV playing softly in the background and loud salsa music playing downstairs. Nessa sat on her tattered couch staring at the TV. The newscasters were making jokes about the weather, but she wasn't really watching it. Sighing, she reached for the phone and slowly dialed. A man picked up. 

_"'Lo."_

"Hey, Rick."

_"Ah, hey, Ness, what's up, babe? How'd the audition go?"_

"I'll know next week, but I know I didn't make it." Nessa curled up on the couch.

_"Aw, come on, babe."_

"My voice was too shaky, and I think it cracked a bit."

A heavy sigh was heard on the other line.

_"Look, Ness, I gotta go. The guys are here and we're all gonna go to the bar."_

"Fine. See ya." She hung up, glaring at the phone. Rick wasn't really around much anymore. He could've at least let her rant for a few more minutes. But now, she needed someone to talk to. She looked through the numbers on her cellphone. Dara was always with her new boyfriend, Stacy had moved to California, Kalim was somewhere in Africa doing charity work with his boyfriend, and Mia never picked up when she called. She let out another sigh, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. In college they'd promised they'd always stay together, but now here she was, alone and friendless.

Friendless...made her think about that oddball outside the Majestic. She wondered if he was sitting in his apartment as glum as she was.

* * *

Erik was sitting in his lair, an incredibly glum expression on his face. This had not been a good day whatsoever. Those morons had rejected him for the part that he'd created, he'd cracked his best mask and now had to wear his spare, and those security guards had sprained his ankle. Damn them all to the ninth circle of hell. 

Then that wench had to pretend to be all anxious and caring. Well, maybe not pretend. She really didn't have a reason to pretend. Come to think of it, she'd been rather nice, offering him...whatever she'd offered. Cellphone? What on earth was a cellphone? Probably some useless modern doohickey.

He groaned, adjusting his ankle on the arms of his chair. Well, at least soon they'd have an all-new cast for him to terrorize. Even the smallest things were fun, like poking some unsuspecting slob in the back. They'd turn around and no one was there. Rather amusing it was, although he had to admit, it was quite petty.

Yawning, Erik slowly got up. It had been a long, exhausting day, and he was definitely ready for bed. He limped to his bedroom and slid the curtain closed.


	3. Sweet Lord, Don't Hate Me

I know, you all hate me, don't you? Well, time to hate me more. I'm discontinuing this fic. It's not that I'm lazy, or that I don't know what the flip I'm gonna write. Family circumstances have placed me in my grandma's house. It's kinda awkward to write THIS kind of fic here, so...ya know. I mean, HELLO, it's rated M!

HOWEVER...in September, I'm getting a laptop for high school. Then I shall return to you all! In the meantime, much love to you all.

Au revoir, A.B.


End file.
